


The Words Across Your Lips

by witch_lit



Series: The Misery of Alec Lightwood [10]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, M/M, Suicide, Unrequited Love, one way Malec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witch_lit/pseuds/witch_lit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's things like this that get Alec, get Alec hoping. Hoping that Magnus is serious, but the knowledge that he's not is always tying him down. Always screaming at him, holding a gun at his head and slowly emptying the barrel. But it's all empty, and Magnus is shooting air. Alec wishes that his sparkly best friend would just kill him already, whack him over the head and be done with this guns business. He just wants it to end, he wants his emotions to crumple up and go away, or be replaced, like they do when he's alone in his room and a shoelace is tying off his arm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Words Across Your Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimed.

Alec tilts his head back, sighing as he waits for the euphoria to take him. As he waits for forgetfulness, as he waits for the menacing emotions to drift away for a while. As he waits to be numb, waits those two odd seconds where he wonder if he'll die this time before he forgets that, a chemical happiness tugging at his lips. A manufactured happiness, because he can't seem to make his own. But what's not to be happy about? He doesn't feel bad. He doesn't feel an impending sense of doom, there's no dread rawing his insides. There's just Alec Lightwood; sometimes even less. There's nothing, as it truly kicks in and tackles his brain. Alec's nothing, just like he always is. But this time, it's even to himself. It's even in his mind. He's nothing, and it makes him happy. Makes him giggle and want to dance, or more specifically, watch his body dance. He feels light, like he's in a dream.

 

There's nothing wrong with his life. He might not have friends who know him, who care, but that's alright. Everything is blurred, it's nice. When he moves to take the needle out of his arm, he's not really the one moving it. He's just watching it happen, because it's not him. Not anymore. He's a puppet, and tonight, no one gets to play with the strings but this person that's taken over for a while. Sometimes he wishes it were for forever, because when he's gone, he's happy. He's warm. People care about him. People who don't know him, well, they like to pretend they love him sometimes. It's enough. It doesn't really matter, though. Not now.

 

He's dreaming.

\---- 

Alec darts past the students at the door, not wanting to be late to his first hour (again). He feels heavier than he should, and it takes more effort than it should, but he makes it to those black and dreary doors, pulling his ID out to show the guard, and hurrying past to his locker. He puts in the wrong password the first time, and has to do it again, making him even more anxious. The warning bell is about to go off.

 

He's climbing the steps to his first hour, to the third floor and down the hall. He get in the classroom just as the bell rings, and his efforts are rewarded by the nod of congratulations he gets from Magnus. The only reason he even keeps coming to classes, to school. Other than to buy his supplies, that is.

 

Alec sighs, tired, as he flops down next to Magnus, not bothering to get lunch. He's not too hungry, and if he goes for it now he'll be waiting fifteen minutes for his meal. Why waste time he could spend with his best friend?

 

"Tired?" Magnus asks, an eyebrow raised.

 

Alec nods silently, gazing up to stare at bright green eyes. He almost does, too, before guilt hits him and he has to look away. He feels bad about this. About hating himself because of Magnus. No, it's not Magnus's fault. It's his; Alec just screws everything up, just like a toddler with a crank-toy.

 

"Stay up late?" Magnus inquires, lifting a brow and snapping Alec out of his mind, only to push him back in.

 

"Sort of," He didn't stay up late, not really. He wasn't awake, but he certainly wasn't asleep. He just drifted in and out of consciousness, in a limbo between, images he's not sure existed flashing before his eyes, infecting his ears and burning at his skin. He could taste them in the air, like sandpaper on his tongue. He could see his brother, his small, little, baby brother, all cold and...

 

"Well, I'm sure if you let me sleep over it wouldn't be a 'sort of,' it'd be a definitely," Magnus winks, and Alec feels his stomach turn and mumble something discomforting.

 

It's things like this that get Alec, get Alec hoping. Hoping that Magnus is serious, but the knowledge that he's not is always tying him down. Always screaming at him, holding a gun at his head and slowly emptying the barrel. But it's all empty, and Magnus is shooting air. Alec wishes that his sparkly best friend would just kill him already, whack him over the head and be done with this guns business. He just wants it to end, he wants his emotions to crumple up and go away, or be replaced, like they do when he's alone in his room and a shoelace is tying off his arm.

 

He just wants to feel nice. But he can't.

 

Alec loves Magnus. Loves him, but Magnus doesn't love him back. It's something that the countless hickies burn into his mind, hickies that tell the tale of a party and a good night. Alec doesn't like seeing the marks like he can see them now, just above the fabric of his friend's clothes. Someone else was with Magnus, someone better, someone Alec will never know. Magnus's life is a puzzle, and Alec is the piece that doesn't fit. He's from a different picture, a different set. He doesn't belong with the colorful pieces, he belongs with the greys and browns of his house, the coldness that creeps through the walls, the death that sings down the halls and into his bedroom, into his head, an lingers there like an unwanted guest.

 

Magnus doesn't say anything to Alec for the rest of their lunch hour, instead talking to Camille about this and that. He doesn't notice Alec staring at his half-covered neck, doesn't see as Alec marches further into a depression he only knows one cure for. He has more of that 'cure' by the end of the day, and it sits in his bedside table just waiting for him to use. He would have, too, if mom hadn't been sleeping at the house that night.

 ----

A crash in the kitchen wakes Alec up. Suddenly alert, he get up from his bed and hurries down the halls. He knows who it's going to be; he knew the moment she snuck out of her room that Izzy would be back in the early morning, done for the night with getting drunk and illegally going to bars. Done screwing someone she doesn't know and never will.

 

Alec makes it to the kitchen, and sure enough, she's there. She's talking to no one, and there's a broken plate on the floor.

 

"Alec!" She calls upon seeing her brother. He hushes her, but she keeps on babbling in a volume too high to be ignored.

 

"And you know, Alec, my body feels like rubber. Rubber! It's so weird. I wonder if I would bounce if you drop me..." She giggles.

 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Alec hisses, a whisper that still manages to get her attention. She's high. She shouldn't be high. She shouldn't be doing drugs. Or getting drunk and fucked senseless, he supposes, but she does it anyway. “Mom’s here tonight!”

 

Isabelle giggles. “Mom’s not here tonight. Her head is still back at work, trapped in the past with Max…”

 

Alec tenses at the mention of his little brother, a wave of guilt passing over him. It’s his fault that Max is gone. If he’d watched him better, been closer, those little lips wouldn’t be blue and rotting away under the earth. If he’ just been better…

 

“He’s gone, though, Alec. Just like mom.” Isabelle giggles again, not seeing the apology, the sadness, the hurt, in Alec’s fogging blue eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” He says. And he is. It’s his fault Isabelle got into all of this shit. It’s his fault she’s coming back to the house high at three am. It’s because he’s an awful brother, because he was the only one home when Max drowned in the bathtub. He was the one to force his way in after an hour with no response, the one to find the small, naked body at the bottom of the tub.

 

“S’not your fault. You were the only one watching Max because I was out with Simon. If it’s your fault, then it’s mine and Jace’s as well.  What do you think Jace’s spirit animal is? I feel like an eagle today. I think you’re a rabbit. A rabbit!” She giggles, her arms flailing around for a second.

 

Alec sighs, a deep unease settling into him, and brings his sister to her room, and staying with her for a half hour before she falls asleep. Every second grates on his nerves, begging him to go numb again. Begging him to stop feeling, to shoot up into a high he won’t come back from. His sister is drowning in chemicals, and it’s his fault. Before Max died, before Alec killed him, Isabelle just went out to a party every now and then, the ones the more popular kids held. Now she’d go to any and every one she could find, desperate to just forget how much her life got screwed up, how dysfunctional her family became. How dysfunctional it already was.

 ----

As Isabelle falls asleep and Alec goes back to his room, he can feel the pull the needle is attracting. It’s a magnet, and Alec’s fallen victim. He should stop. But he can’t, because when he’s away he _feels_ things, traitorous thoughts leaking into his mind. They hurt the most because they’re true.  So Alec shuts the door, looking across his cluttered room and finding just what he needs. He pulls off his sock, and soon warm feelings are spreading through him. He’s okay. His limbs are heavy, his mouth is drying but he’s happy. There’s the face of a little, dark-haired boy swimming through his vision, sitting on the floor, reading silently, occasionally asking Alec a question about something. Alec never knows the answers, but it’s okay. They’re content like this, Alec watching, the boy reading.

 

“Alec, come on, we have to go to school,” Jace says, opening the door. He’s looking expectant, and Clary is next to him with that same look. They’re holding hands, something that makes Alec frown. At least Jace is happy, he thinks drowsily. He’s tired. He’s been drifting in and out, watching Max for the last four hours.

 

“Can’t leave Max,” Alec mumbles, looking over at the boy. “Why’s Clary here?”

 

Jace furrows his brow. “Clary?” Jace shakes his head.  “Alec, Max isn’t here. He’s gone, and Isabelle’s in a sorry state. We need to hurry and get to school.”

 

“M’not going. Staying here with Max,” Alec grins, happy to be with his baby brother again. Max is back, Max is back!

 

“Alec…”

 

“Whoa,” Alec twists his head around, watching the walls twist and turn, and bubbles sprout off of them, dark purple and float-y, bouncing on the ground a minute before settling. He gets up, walking over to his adoptive brother and swamping him in a hug, kissing his cheek. “The walls are being funny. I’ll see you later, okay?”

 

Jace pries the dark haired teen off of him, looking him in the eyes while his own fill with worry and disgust. Sure enough, the signs are there. “You’re high.”

 

“What?” Alec asks, looking at his brother with disbelieving eyes. “No I’m not.”

 

“Your pupils are tiny. You can’t go to school like this.”

 

“See? I’m staying with Max. We’re happy here.”

 

“Alec… Max isn’t here.” Clary steps out from behind Jace, her eyes meeting his. They’re all wrong. They’re not pretty, or even nice. They don’t have that annoying naivety that follows Clary around. They’re filled with venom, with hate, disgust. She’s lying. She has to be lying.

 

“No. He’s here. Can’t you see him?” Alec points to his little brother, a frown filling up his features. Can’t she see him? He’s right there, reading a copy of _D.Gray-Man._ She’s pretending. He’s right there.

 

“Alec… Who are you talking to?” Jace asks, uneasy.

 

“Your idiot of a girlfriend,” Alec glares at the red head. His brother is there, dammit.

 

“Alec. Clary’s not here,” Jace argues. “And whatever you took, don’t take it again. You’re going to school tomorrow. I’ll be back later, and when you’re not off you’re rocker, we’ll talk.”

 

He leaves, and Alec turns to his littlest brother. “Guess it’s just you and me.”

 

The boy smiles, looking up from his book for a second. Their eyes meet, and Alec can’t help but smile at the friendliness. At the comfort in those eyes. He’s not sure why it matters so much to him that Max is here; it hardly did before, but now every second is a flush of contentment on his cheeks.

\---

When Jace opens the door, Alec has no knowledge of what his adopted brother sees. Maybe he sees a needle in his arm, all the little dots and bruises from other times he’s taken. Maybe he sees the shell of his brother being taken over by someone else. Maybe he sees the tears running down Alec’s face, the ghost of a hopeless sobbing that’s since passed. Maybe he sees the fear.

 

Maybe he sees the trash can over flowing with crumpled papers, or maybe he sees the sunken eyes and tired soul. Maybe he sees the guilt Alec had stopped feeling. Maybe he sees his brother crumpled into a little pile, desperate to forget everything. Maybe he sees just how far gone his brother is, how depressed he truly is. Maybe he sees everything wrong with the Lightwood family in that moment, maybe he doesn’t see anything at all as his mind refuses to process the stillness of it all. Maybe he sees the room losing its heat, the temperature dropping as if a child broke the ‘warm’ crayon, letting the gooey strength drip away.

 

Maybe he can see the cracks of hopelessness, the second part of the beginning of the end for some of his family. Maybe he sees Isabelle following her brother’s footsteps. Maybe he sees his adoptive mother throwing herself in her work. Maybe he sees the sad look his adoptive father will give before moving on from the fag son. Alec doesn’t know what he sees, but it hardly matters when his eyes are glossed over and leaking the remainder of his now-gone pain.

 ---

 

The night of the funeral, it takes all of Isabelle’s will power to not down a few pills. Even more willpower to not add a bottle of whiskey to that list, but she manages. She cries on Jace’s shoulder. She grips his hand, and doesn’t let go. He’s the last brother she has left, and she’s not going to lose him. She’s going to keep him alive, and keep herself from death as she does. She’s going to stop getting drunk at parties, she’s going to stop taking acid and smoking. She’s going to stop being the rebellious daughter, stop like Alec asked her to.

 

The note was written in what must have been a high, as it sometimes doesn’t make sense and the writing is all over. It asks her to stop killing herself, because now he’s done that for her. He’s killed himself, she won’t have to. Whatever was going through his head, she doesn’t know. She just knows that he wanted her to stop and no, it wasn’t her fault. But no matter what words are printed, or scribbled, there’s still guilt clawing at her insides. Maybe if she hadn’t come home in the state that she did. Maybe if she’d been a better sister, if she’d been home that night Max drowned, if she’d told Alec she loved him more often.

 

The worst part of the funeral, besides that her brother is dead, is that their father doesn’t even show up. Maryse looks downcast, sad, near tears. But the only people crying are Isabelle and Magnus. The only people who cared enough to show their vulnerability at the funeral are his sister and his best friend. Some people look sad, and Jace looks frozen, but the family is only there because they have to be, younger cousins running around and laughing, their parents doing nothing to stop the display. Three or four people actually care enough to be saddened, truly saddened, not just putting on a mask for the living. It’s disgusting.

\----

It’s been months since the funeral. Months without Alec. Months without his best friend, the voice of reason when Magnus wanted to do stupid things. Months, and Isabelle just dropped off a fashion magazine. A copy of Allure, one Magnus gave Alec years ago. He never expected Alec to keep it, and he looks over it with a drink from his parent’s liquor cabinet.

 

He looks through the beauty tips that have been out of style for at least two years, pictures of clothes and models and adds. He used to really love this magazine. He keeps wondering why Alec kept it. It’s not something Alec’s ever been into, but he soon finds reasons tucked into the pages. Poems. Hand written, torn from a notebook. It’s Alec’s handwriting, and most of the poems are about love. He didn’t know Alec liked someone, and judging from the progression of the poems he liked them for a long time. There are happy ones, and sad ones, and ones so desperate they make Magnus cry. How could someone ever deny Alec? But knowing Alec, he’d never tell them.

 

It isn’t until the end that he gets it. That he really understands why Isabelle brought the magazine to him, not keeping it like she has with lots of other things. Especially something as person as this. It’s in a  poem, in one of the last pages.

 

_Roses are Red,_

_My death will be blue,_

_But hell, Magnus_

_I love you_.

 

Magnus couldn’t help but burst into tears. This entire magazine, the contents, were about him. The Titanic of his heart just sunk.

_There’s a pounding in my head. I hate it. I hate being able to feel. I hate coming down from it, I hate it when I realize, as I do every time, that Max is dead. That he’s not alive when there isn’t a needle in me. I hate remembering that it’s all my fault, and I don’t want to remember anymore. I don’t want to think it’s my fault, have that thought running through my head. Running around, screaming at everyone else._

_Have I told you I love you? Because I do, and not just as your friend._

_But I’m going to die tonight, so it doesn’t matter. You’re never going to see this, so it doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. It’s all those hickies that matter, and I didn’t give them._

_I love you, and I’m sorry for it._

_\----  
_

And as Isabelle stops taking, Magnus starts.


End file.
